Cause Baby, You're Not a Firework!
by dragonskales
Summary: Mustang needs to either get his office soundproofed, or stop procrastinating on his paperwork. This is a birthday present for the one and only, Lilac Rose6, but it may turn into a series of oneshots. Rated T to be safe for those possible future chapters
1. Cause Baby, You're Not a Firework!

Okay, first of all, I cannot claim the genius idea behind this. Or FMA in general.

But I can claim having the honor of being friends with the birthday girl who had the dream that this is based off of! Happy Birthday, Lilac! Happy Fabulous Fourteenth!

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><p>If there was one thing that irritated Colonel Roy Mustang more than Lieutenant Colonel Hughes telling him to find himself a wife, it was one thing.<p>

Paperwork.

Mustang failed to see the point of it, or the purpose of reading through it all and signing his name. It was mindnumbing, it killed trees, and it was oh so flammable. He couldn't count how many times he'd come close to pulling on his gloves and snapping his fingers at it. Several times he found himself reaching for the white clothing articles, already imagining the beautiful, red-hot blazes the irritating sheafs of paper would become, before First Lieutenant Hawkeye turned around and he practically flung them across the room in fear. Rule number one in this office was that you didn't make Hawkeye angry. You just didn't. Unless you were stupid and/or had a deathwish.

But today of all days, Hawkeye was out of the office, as it was her day off. However, the Flame Alchemist's gloves had been left in the pocket of his spare uniform and had been sent to the drycleaners. So while he didn't have the lieutenant to keep him on task, he couldn't send his work up in flames like he'd wanted to, leaving him a very bored colonel.

In a last ditch act of procrastination, Mustang flipped on the radio in his inner office. Coincidentally, a popular pop song was beginning to play(1). The colonel paused, not having heard this particular one before. He found it quite catchy and after a few moments began tapping the desk with his fountain pen, in time to the beat. By the second chorus, he found himself humming. And by the bridge of the song, he was singing along.

Unfortunately for Mustang, he began belting out the lyrics at the aproximate moment that the Fullmetal Alchemist walked through the door of the outer office.

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><p>Edward Elric was not having a good day. The lead he and Alphonse had been following had been a total dud, as was pretty much expected these days. Sometimes it seemed like they'd never find the Philosopher's Stone. And the fact that Al had just <em>happened<em> to come across several kittens on the way here did not improve his mood at all.

For now, however, he just wanted to find the colonel, hand in his meager report on what he _hadn't _found, and get back to the library to look for another clue.

The young alchemist didn't expect to see Mustang's subordinates huddled around the door to the inner office and snickering. And was that off-key singing coming from behind the door?

"What's going on?" he inquired, crossing the room at the speed of a curious teenager.

Second Lieutenant Havoc shushed him. "Quiet! He'll hear you!" Ed whispered.

"Who'll hear me? Why does it sound like something's dying in there? And what is Fuery recording?"

Sergeant Major Kain Fuery paused in fiddling with small device that looked as though it specialized in recording sounds. "It's the Colonel; he's singing."

"He's what?"

"Shhh! Just listen, shorty," said Second Lieutenant Heymans Breda. Edward, now curious more than ever, didn't even react to the word "shorty" (though later he'd remember and be held back from pummeling the red-haired lieutenant) and quickly approached the door. He muttered at Falman to move over so he could press his ear against the wood.

Inside, muffled as it was by the door, came an unfamiliar melody. Or, the words were familiar, it was just the voice belting them out that caught him by surprise.

_"Cause baby you're a firework_  
><em>Come on show 'em what your worth<em>  
><em>Make 'em go "Oh, oh, oh!"<em>  
><em>As you shoot across the sky-y-y..."<em>

Soon Ed found himself sniggering and covering his mouth with his left hand. This was just too good to interrupt.

Despite Havoc and Breda's protests, the Fullmetal Alchemist silently turned the doorknob, cracked the door open. He nearly lost it with laughter at what he saw inside.

The Flame Alchemist was so into the music that he didn't hear the door open. Instead, he was standing on his desk, stepping all over the forgotten paperwork. His eyes were closed as lyrics dropped from his lips like bricks. He was even snapping his glove-less fingers in the air as he swayed to the beat.

_"Boom, boom boom  
>Even brighter than the moon, moon, moon<br>Boom, boom, boom  
>Even brighter than the moon, moon, moon!"<em>

That did it. Every single one of Mustang's subordinates keeled over, unable to hold in their laughter, chuckles, giggles, or guffaws in any longer.

"Ahahahahaha!"

"Oh God, Bwahahaha!"

Mustang froze for a good ten seconds, the loud laughter having returned his attention to the world. He saw his subordinates rolling around on the floor, and realized what they had heard.

He didn't say a single word; he just stomped over to the door, kicked Fullmetal out of the way none-too-gently, and slammed it, before practically ripping the radio's cord from the wall and dumping himself in his swivel chair, and attacking his paperwork with a beet-red face.

But even the colonel couldn't ignore the eardrum-burstingly loud laughter coming from right outside his door.

Mustang really needed to get his office soundproofed, or at least attempt to not procrastinate so much.

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><p>(1) I know they didn't have pop music then. Bear with me people.<p>

Can you even imagine Travis Willingham's voice singing that? Someone should ask him to sing it, record it on video, put it on youtube, and send me the link. Seriously, that would make my year.

Hope you liked it, Lilac! And if anybody else enjoyed it, there's a review button right down there... You could tell me what you thought of it.


	2. What Cake? Part One

**Chapter Two: What Cake? Part One**

Warning: this oneshot contains much _extreme_ OOCness, crack, and all around cake-related insanity. My stepbrother actually thought this up, so if you hate it, blame him. Not me. **Read at your own risk.**

Just kidding, I'm sure at least one of you will love it. But, if you _do_ dislike it, I didn't think it up.

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><p>Colonel Roy Mustang was craving cake. He didn't know why, for he usually wasn't all that partial to the sweet treat, but for the sake of this story, he wanted cake.<p>

Chocolate cake, to be exact. And lo and behold, there was a large square chocolate cake in the staff room's fridge.

"Ooh, lucky me!" he squealed girlishly, before pausing and wondering what unearthly power had possessed him to be as unmanly as he was for a second there. Shrugging it off, the colonel grabbed the cake and jumped up on the counter, removed the grate over the vent, and pulled himself up into the suprisingly large-enough space inside.

Once situated in a postion suitable for inching along the metal of the vent, he received a sudden urge to hum. Loudly.

Below, in the halls, Second Lieutenants Heymans Breda and Jean Havoc paused in their stroll back to their office from latrine break. Why they were both using the facilities at the same time, one can only guess. From the ceiling came the sound of humming.

"Can you hear that, Havoc," Breda asked, cocking his head so that one ear was closer to the source of the noise than the other.

"Yeah..." the smoker assured his companion of his sanity, confirming that he also had detected the sound in question. He snapped his fingers suddenly, realizing something. "IT'S FROM THAT MOVIE!"

"What movie?"

"YOU KNOW, THE ONE WITH THE MISSION, BUT IT'S IMPOSSIBLE..."

"First of all: dude, stop yelling; I'm pretty sure Xing heard you."

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><p>Meanwhile, across the desert, past Xerxes, in Xing...<p>

Ling Yao, prince and twelfth in line for the Xingese throne, could have sworn he heard a peculiar sound.

_"...YOU KNOW, THE ONE WITH THE MISSION, BUT IT'S IMPOSSIBLE..."_

He tilted his head to the side... "Huh, strange wind." His stomach growled. "Oh, right. It's lunch time."

Beside him, Lan Fan barely held back a facepalm. "Young Lord, you just ate lunch, and you nearly ate the country out of house and home."

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><p>Back in Amestris, Mustang had shimmied his way through the vents and had finally arrived right above his inner office.<p>

He removed the vent cover and dropped his legs down onto his desk, ripping and ruining his paperwork. But paperwork was the farthest thing from his mind. He had cake, and that was what was important.

He heard the doorknob turn, and heard First Lieutenant Hawkeye's voice say, "Sir, I was just checking to make sure that you were still doing your paper-what are you doing?"

The colonel, who still had his arms and head in the vent, very articulately said, "Uhhhhh... nothing?"

"Nevermind. Sir, I was just in the staff room, and it appears that my cake is missing."

"What cake? I know nothing about any cake, NO I DIDN'T STEAL YOUR CAKE! How dare you accuse me of such stupidity," Mustang said quickly, without making any thought about his response.

"I also spoke with Lieutenants Havoc and Breda, and they seem to recall seeing you in the staff room-"

"I was alone in the staff room. I mean, I wasn't in the staff room. Yeah, that's what I meant."

Hawkeye continued as though he had not interrupted. "-and they say you were climbing into the vent above the counter."

"I had made a short joke at the pipsqueak's expense, and was looking for a quick escape route. Fullmetal was punching at the reinforced windows, with that damned metal hand of his, which probably stunted his growth, and he cracked the glass, so I had to get the hell out of there."

At that moment, Edward Elric had stepped into the outer office, slovenly-written report in hand, and in a calm voice, much calmer than what would be expected, stated, "I am going to kill Colonel Bastard."

Fuery and Falman shuddered, and felt that the correct course of action for this development would be to huddle under Hawkeyes desk. Unfortunately, that hiding spot was occupied, by none other than Black Hayate, who gazed curiously at the two men as they tried to squeeze in along with the canine.

Out in the hallway, Breda and Havoc shuddered, and one could swear one could swear on their own life that a cold wind blew by, extinguishing Havoc's cigarette and leaving the men with the feeling that they should be anywhere but near the Colonel's office.

"Uh, hey, I think maybe we should head down to the mess hall. Just in case the colonel, you know, wants a taco or something," suggested Breda.

"Yup," Havoc agreed, and without another word, the lieutenants linked arms and skipped down the hall.

Back in the inner office, Mustang suddenly felt the urge to adjust the tuning on the radio, that happened to be playing Katy Perry's "Firework." Unconciously, he shuddered at the memory of all those faces laughing at his expense(1).

As he fiddled with it, a familiar steel arm burst through the wall, accompanied by a muffled shout of, "I will f*cking kill you, bastard!"

Mustang sighed, as though this was a regular occurence. "Fullmetal, I'm sorta talking to Hawkeye right now. I don't have time for you to try and strangle me. Again. For the third time today."

"Shut up!" The arm retreated, and apparently Ed tried once again to punch through the wall and grab the Colonel's throat. Unfortunately, he moved in the wrong direction.

And got Hawkeye instead.

**_To Be Continued..._**

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><p>(1) See chapter one.<p>

I wonder how Hawkeye will react? Will Ed survive? Will Mustang correct his mistake or watch the potentially terrifying event unfold?

Well, what do you think? Say in your review. We just might surprise ya.


	3. What Cake? Part Two

**Chapter Two: What Cake? Part Two**

Again, Warning: this oneshot contains much _extreme_ OOCness, crack, and all around cake-related insanity. My stepbrother actually thought this up, so if you hate it, blame him. Not me. **Read at your own risk. I'll say it one more time. Crack. Complete insanity.**

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><p>"Edward. Let go. Now." Hawkey sounded deathly calm. Mustang quickly took refuge behind his desk, because he forsaw what happened next.<p>

"Oh, shit," Ed swore, quickly attempting to withdraw his arm, but finding that the elbow joint caught on the fabric of Hawkeye's military jacket. Hawkeye, surprisingly, did not notice this. "It's stu-!"

_Bang!_

Nobody knew which way to look, because there were two, eardrum-splitting bangs and crashes. Hawkeye had instinctively pulled the trigger on Edward's steel elbow, causing the forearm to clang to the ground loudly. At the same time, a rotund blur of brown, grey, white, and chocolate icing crashed to to the flame-retardent hardwood floor behind the Colonel's desk.

After yelling "What the hell!" in a high-pitched squeal, Mustang ran and hid behind Hawkeye, screeching "killitkillitkillit!" Hawkeye caught the scents of cheese, tomato sauce, pepperoni, and bacon, on top of chocolate cake.

The cake-splattered form of the infamous Barry the Chopper, rose from behind the desk, held a pizza box on high and shouted, "Who ordered the pepperoni with bacon!"

Edward then stuck his remaining arm through the hole in the wall and yelled, "I did!"

Barry glanced at a scrap of paper in his gauntlet and asked, "And it's charged to one Mr. Colonel Roy Mustang?"

"You betcha!"

Mustang, having recovered from his spasmatic bout of unmanly fear, stood up straight, opened the door to his office, and looked down at his red-cloaked subordinate of small stature. "Fullmetal..."

The Fullmetal Alchemist innocently gazed up at his commanding officer. "And how many paychecks do you owe me, sir?"

The Colonel stopped to count on his fingers and toes, inadvertantly allowing Edward to slip his flesh hand into the man's pocket, produce his wallet, and hand several bills to Barry. Everybody, save Mustang, for he was still counting, dropped what they were doing and grabbed slices of pizza, even going so far as to invite Barry to stay.

"So..." Barry began, "How've ya been, Hawkeye?"

Hawkeye gave a nervous chuckle, praying that _that one night_ did not come up. "Quite well, I guess. How's the family?"

"Oh, Slicer and Slicer are doing fine," the murderer replied.

All the while, the Colonel was quietly stuffing his face in the corner, with the remnants of the cake and his private stash of bacon bits.

Suddenly, Lieutenants Havoc and Breda stumbled in, lugging a fifty-five gallon drum, filled to the brim with Drachman beer and giggling intoxicatedly.

Hawkeye looked up at the lieutenants, then Edward, then Barry, and then Mustang. She jumped up and screeched. "My cake!"

Mustang's eyes lifted, and through a mouthful of bits of bacon and icing, said, "Oh. Shit." Quickly seeking a distraction to save his hide, the Colonel leapt to his feet, struck an Armstrong-esque pose, and shouted, "Beer Pong!"

Breda and Havoc cheered drunkenly, while everybody else stared for a minute, before agreeing uncertaintly. Hawkeye forgot about the cake thief, grinned, and essentially did the same thing her commanding officer had, even the Armstrong pose. "Beer Pong!" she agreed.

Ed piped up. "But we don't have cups... or a ball," he said, not bringing up the fact that he was underage.

Upon that news, the whole room fell into varying states of depression, crowding into corners to sulk. Except for Mustang, who was suddenly useful for once.

"I can fix that," he intoned, for the first time in this crack two-shot sounding relatively manly, striding over to his desk and giving it a swift kick with his strangely pink boots. Yes, his boots are now pink. Deal with it.

Anyway... the desk complained loudly, and a muttering of "jackass" was heard, before the drawers banged open and red plastic cups and flaming ping pong balls jumped out and did the hula. **(A/N: To answer the question you're probably asking right now, we do not know what we are on as we are writing this. Although those Flintstone Sour Gummy Vitamins might have something to do with it) **

"Well, I guess that solves that problem," Breda chuckled, eyes flashing violet before he suddenly thinned drastically and his military uniform retracted somehow into a black skort and belly shirt. Black-green hair sprouted from his previously red-topped scalp, and before anybody could say "What the hell?" - and belive me, they tried - Envy the homunculus was standing before them.

For some reason, nobody found this as surprising as you think. Without skipping a beat, everone carried on as if the little incident concerning the lack of necessary equipment hadn't happened, dividing themselves into two teams for the game of beer pong.

Team one, known as the "Red Hippopotami," consisted of Mustang, Hawkeye, and Barry. Barry picked the name, and nobody objected when he raised his meat cleaver threateningly.

Team two, called "I Can't Hold Down A Girlfriend," and obviously named by a certain blonde/redhead lieutenant male, had Edward, Havoc, and Envy.

Mustang all-too-happily swept the papers of of his desk, and Ed transmuted a net from the wooden surface. As soon as the play area was ready, Team "I Can't Hold Down A Girlfriend" and Team "Red Hippopotami" assumed their positions on either side of the makeshift ping pong table, and so began the game.

Not three minutes into the game, they came across several speedbumps, for lack of the brain power to think up a better word.

Apparently, Envy liked beer. Really, _really _liked it. To the point of drinking enough of it on the sidelines to walk up to Barry, lift his head, and vomit grossly into the metal armor, narrowly missing the blood seal. After that, he promptly, and inconveniently, passed out on the playing table/desk, hindering the game severely. For some reason, everyone else took it upon themselves to dance in celebration of this. This caused the homunculus's head to pop up, and slur, "Screw you guys, I wanna cheese... cake..."

This reminded Hawkeye of her cake, and after about four and a half minutes she proceeded to repetetively pistol-whip Mustang upside the face. The face, people. That shit hurts. Yes, we tried this backstage. It. Fucking. Hurts. Pardon our French. Oh, wait, that wasn't French.

The girlish screeches of the Colonel seemed to awaken Envy, for he sat up, still on the makeshift ping pong table. At some point his head band had been cut from his forehead and somehow stuffed up his nose, and across his forehead, somebody had taken a Sharpie marker from hammer space and written "bulimic crossdressing fatass palmtree." We have reason to believe that the culprit was Mustang. **(A/N: Lilac, I didn't think you would mind another reason to kick Roy's ass. This was my stepbrother's idea)**

Envy pulled his headband out of his nose, used it as a tissue, and flung it into Mustang's face, completely by accident. Or so he claimed later. A sudden thought struck the palm tree, and he waved to get Hawkeye's attention.

"Hey! Hey, bird-lady! Pay attention to me, I'm talking to you!"

"What is it?" she asked, still pistol-whipping Mustang into his snotty-headband-covered face. Mustang seemed to be unconcious by this point. And bleeding profusely out of the mouth and nose area.

"You look like the gambling type," he drawled. "Care to make a friendly bet?"

"I'm listening..."

"If my team wins this game of beer pong, you have to wear a miniskirt. I mean like a _tiny_ miniskirt. The one he," he pointed at the prone form of Mustang, "dreams about. Twenty four hours, not a second less."

"And if you lose...?" Hawkeye prompted.

Envy thought for a minute. "I will openly admit to being female. Even if that's not true."

"Hmmm... you strike a hard bargain, palm tree. You got yourself a deal." Sealing it with a handshake, and attempts at breaking the other's hand, they rallied their teams and got the game going at full throttle once more.

Fifteen long, montage-filled minutes later, the nonexistant trophy and bragging rights ultimately went to team "I Can't Hold Down A Girlfriend." Envy whooped and began to breakdance in the middle of the carpet, inadvertantly kicking Mustang in the face. This, however, did not hinder Mustang's cheers. For even though he lost, he had been dreaming about the day Hawkeye wore a miniskirt since before he joined the military.

Needless to say, Hawkeye was pissed. She proceeded to cuss a blue streak at the top of her lungs, for seeing Mustang happy in this manner was unacceptable. Un. Accept. Able. Instead of whipping out her gun and pointing it at the homunculus who began the bet, she fired off three rounds in the direction of the Colonel's feet, causing him to dance like a monkey on crack. Ed just sat back, laughing his blonde head off and enjoying the show.

By the time everyone finished off the left-over beer, Alphonse had stumbled in, searching for his brother.

"Brother look! I found a kitty!"

The "kitty" turned out to be a five-hundred pound tiger. Who apparently liked beer, the scent of which still hung in the air. The smell clung more to Envy, since he had downed the most alcohol. This caused the "kitty" to pounce on him and growl, demanding he share.

Envy yelled, "No! Mah beer! Mahne! Bad kitty!"

Alphonse pouted as only a suit of armor could. "He's not bad, he just hasn't found his place in the world yet."

"Bad kitty! Bad armor!" Envy seemed reduced to two-word sentences by this time.

Nobody knew who yelled, "Bar fight!" But they all seemed eager to join in

In minutes, the entire office was in shambles. The desk was now kindling and the radio was blaring some anti-vioence ballad. "

_"Why can't we be friends?  
>Why can't we be friends...?"<em>

The music was suddenly cut off by Barry smashing Mustang's face into the radio, before he dropped the guy and fretted. "Omigod! Did I, like, hurt you?"

Mustang replied by snapping his fingers and setting Barry on fire.

"I liked that radio!" he wailed, dropping to his knees and grieving the passing of the radio. "It was the only thing the Lieutenant ever gave me! It was the best fourth birthday ever!"

"Sir, that was your twenty-first birthday."

"Oh. Wow, am I behind on the times or what?"

Meanewhile Ed was getting his face kicked in by a mysteriously gravity-inverted Fuhrer King Bradley.

"What is hitting me?" he demanded, attempting to fend off the attack with his one arm and a half-empty red cup.

Everyone else looked at him, then looked at each other, then looked up at the leader of their country, stuck to the cieling by his hands and giggling like a madman whilst kicking at the Fullmetal Alchemist upside the face. Then they looked at each other again, and then they all pounced on Ed. At the same time.

Mustang drunkenly slurred, "Dog pile on the... shriiimp..." and staggered to the writhing pile of people. The tiger had worked its way to the bottom and was no nom nom nomming on Ed's face.

"It's eating my face! Eeeeek!"

"Om nom nom nom face nom nom..."

"The hell is it saying! Eeeek!"

Bradley, now miffed at being ignored once again, said "Abra kadabra" and canceled gravity for everyone in the room. The tiger was still firmly attached to Edward's face.

"And after all the trouble I went to, hiding on the ceiling," he muttered, kicking Barry's helmet off in a pout.

The drunken mass of people didn't seem surprised or scared in the sudden lack of being on the ground at all. Rather, they seemed to be enjoying it. The tiger even let go of Ed's face to "swim" through the air and do a series of backflips and barrel rolls.

At this point, Falman cautiously opened the door and walked in. He scratched his head, confused as hell, and walked right back out.

"I think I should stop coming into work so early..." he muttered, closing and locking the office door.

"Why am I still being ignored!" Bradley whined.

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><p>So... was that cracky enough for ya?<p>

With a show of hands, who'd like an epilogue to the Cake Story?

We no own, you no sue. And by the by, we do not condone underage drinking. We just thought it would be funny in this situation.


	4. What Cake? Epilogue

This is the last Cake Story part, I swear! This is the epilogue! Now read!

However, if you dislike the mental image of Envy floating out of Mustang's nose, you might want to skip that part. It's the fourth paragraph, by the way. And sorry if the image is already in your head ^^U...

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><p>Roy groaned and cracked his eyes open, to look at his "normal" inner office.<p>

It was in shambles.

At some point while he had been unconcious, the form of the Fuhrer, still inexplicably attached to the ceiling, had produced a piece of sidewalk chalk from seemingly nowhere and had doodled bright magenta unicorns and the words "I GOTZ CHALK, BITCHESSSS!" around the room.

And that's when Envy floated out of Roy's nose. For some reason, the colonel did not even think to ask "What the hell!" He could swear he distinctly heard the homunculus mutter, "Screw this shit, I got Mr. Clean..."

Suddenly, heavy gauntlets appeared and began to attempt to beat the man's forehead in. Roy could swear he felt his brain jiggle around in his skull, clearly unhappy with the treatment. But strangely, it tickled. And Roy found himself giggling uncontrollably as he was repeatedly battered _upside the face_ by Barry's metal fists from hell.

Detachedly, he noticed Barry's knife had somehow cut the armor in half, so that there was a sizeable diagonal gash in his torso. Peeking out of the gap, was Lieutenant Hawkeye, with a "I am so stoned, man" expression on her face.

At that point, Heymans Breda jumped in abruptly from the far corner, and grabbed Barry's head, jamming it onto his own skull, and jumping out the window, spraying strangely candy-colored glass all over everyone. As soon as Breda was clear of the glass and was falling to his death from the high floor of the office, the shattered splinters of the window reformed immediately and left the glass pane appearing as though a second lieutenant had not jumped through it.

Then, without breaking the pane of glass in the door to the inner office, he flew through, at the exact same speed he had been travelling when he'd hit the main window. If anyone in the room at that moment had ever played a game of Portal, it would remind them of that a lot.

During all of this, Edward had been crouched in a corner with chalky words of "Emo Corner (of doom)" scrawled above him. He was muttering to himself in a very deranged manner, probably having had his mind unhinged by whatever events had taken place.

"...I will have my revenge... I'm just waiting on my evil army of two inch monkeys because they got sidetracked at **_FREAKING STARBUCKS_**!"

"Eh, he'll be fine..." Mustang muttered, turning his attention to the fact that Winry Rockbell had just floated in through the telephone. She took one look at Edward's missing arm, or rather where that missing arm should have been, and screeched, wielding a monkey wrench five times the size of Armstrong.

Hawkeye watched his and did not feel in the least responsible.

(A/N: ...I don't know what the hell is in Mountain Dew, but it's causing some freaky shit, I'm tellin' ya. My stepbrother says he's hallucinating, sitting behind Mustang's desk, and witnessing all of this as it unfolds)

Yelling erupted on the ceiling, and everyone present snapped their eyes up and saw Bradley, leader of the country and on any other day such a stoic man, in, to quote the co-author, the "Most Epic Brawl of the Millenium," with Second Lieutenant Havoc. Clutched in Havoc's fingers were handfuls of colorful crayons, and smeared across his face was a mess of chalky dust. He was screeching in an ungodly tone, "GIMME BACK MY GIRLFRIEND, MUSTANG!" as he painted the Fuhrer's face a waxy teal color. Bradley, strangely (but then again what part of this is normal?), was giggling like a schoolgirl as he graffitied the lieutenant's forehead with the words "I'm a boot."

Outside the door, Falman was on the floor, in the fetal position. Rocking back and forth he whispered, "I just beat down Mew-Two and called it a hoebag... I just beat down Mew-Two and called it a hoebag..."

Suddenly, Roy sat straight up, not aware of when he had laid back down. The office was no longer surrounding him, and anyone who had been in it was nowhere to be seen. Glancing around him, he found the room he was in to be very familiar, although the bed whose foot he was hanging off of was not his own.

A black and white blur of fur bounded into the room and promptly began to try and lick his face off.

"Down, Black Hayate!" Roy ordered. The dog obeyed, but he hesitated. Roy was obviously no Riza Hawkeye.

That's when it hit him. He was in Hawkeye's apartment.

"No more sleeping with miniskirts for me..." he vowed. But he turned right around and said, "Oh, who am I kidding?" Snuggling up with a skirt that had come from a questionable location, he settled back down to sleep.

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><p>... Just... don't ask. We know less than you do, probably.<p>

I need to stop writing Roy-centric stuff...

FMA no belong to me, okay? But I would buy it with food if I could. My stepbrother told me to type that.

Want to tell us how freaking insane we are? Just click that review button right down there.


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